Voice Behind the Madness--More Than Just a Man
by Seraphina Greene
Summary: Perhaps there was more to Moriarty after all? Perhaps he wasn't the man behind it all, and there were those who to whom even he answered? Sherlock and John learn from the one in charge. No one knows who they really are. Name, gender, or where they even live. Just a voice. That's all they are. Just a voice. The voice that haunts your nightmares. The voice behind the madness.


"You must be wondering why you're here." The voice spoke over the intercom lying on the desk in the small and rather cramped office. The walls were non-descript, and in fact there really wasn't anything particularly distinguishable about the room at all, except for the name-plate on the door: _James "Jim" Moriarty_.

Sherlock said nothing, but the look on his face spoke volumes. John on the other hand, voiced his evident confusion openly. "This is an office in a law firm. A _lackey's_ office. Why would Moriarty, 'the man behind the plan' have a desk job, other than for a disguise?"

"He wouldn't, John. Do keep up. I'm sure this is simply a lead that I may have missed in an attempt to bring down his organization. Perhaps this so-called criminal or perhaps even hero wishes to try and best me."

There was an uproarious chuckle from the intercom, which crackled softly. "Oh dear, I'm almost disappointed. Has the great Sherlock Holmes not figured it out yet?"

Sherlock sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes. "My intent was to bring down James Moriarty and _his_ organization. I had no intention of bringing down the organization _he_ worked for."

John looked flabbergasted. "He was working for someone _else_ all along?"

The voice crackled over the intercom once more. "Of course, Doctor Watson." The smirk in the voice seemed evident. "James Moriarty was the spider pulling the strings. That didn't mean that he was the queen of the hive, telling each _every_ one of the worker bees what to do."

"Mixing metaphors doesn't really help the situation." John muttered.

Sherlock couldn't help but let a small smile slip onto his features at that. It was so like John to say something completely irrelevant to the case in a situation like this. "Moriarty was a branch of the organization." Sherlock began pacing back and forth in the small space. His palms were pressed together, his fingers resting against his lips as he spoke, and yet his words were well-articulated. "He had a boss, much like those who worked under him. He never denied the fact that he was the spider, who pulled the strings and refused to get his hands dirty. He thought he'd let me believe that he was the man in charge. It was his job to make me think such a thing, so as to distract me from the larger organization. I suppose he never realized it had never interested me. I deal with _men_, not organizations. Why else would I despise my brother so much?"

The intercom crackled again, and the voice replied. "We have our own theories, although we suppose those ought to wait for a later date. What you have said is correct, Mr. Holmes. James Moriarty never was the man in charge. He was a desk jockey, just like the men below him. He had it better than those who worked for him, but he never really had his hands in decisions. So when we decided it was time to…pull the plug, so to speak…"

Sherlock spoke before the voice could continue, stopping his pacing in the process. "He drank the Kool-Aid like the good little underling he was." He was almost disgusted. The man had received and given orders. Proper geniuses didn't do that.

The voice on the intercom sneered, "You are correct. James Moriarty never was a 'proper genius'. I did love Jeff's term. It was so fitting. After all, James had seen it in Jeff, and he'd seen it in you. It was a perfect start to your little game. We were so proud of him. He'd gone in too deep, it seemed, however. He needed to be taught a lesson. You had bested him. So it was time for us to take our hands off of it."

"You cut the ties between you and let him hang there like a marionette." John supplied, a bite of anger in his tone.

"We're not sure why you're so spiteful, Dr. Watson. James Moriarty had multiple opportunities to end both your life and your partner's in this process. We've seen how much the two of you love each other."

"I'm not gay, if anyone really cares. Why do _you_ care? You have some sort of criminal agenda. What does that have to do with the personal relationship between myself and Sherlock? Not that there was one to begin with." He added pointedly. He seemed to ignore the fact that Sherlock said nothing.

"They are correct, John. Moriarty did have several opportunities to end both of our lives. It is a little startling for you to decide to defend him. He may have been following orders, but he _did_ enjoy the work he was doing. He wasn't forced to do it." The next words that came from John's mouth were muttered, so only Sherlock could hear him. Sherlock nodded, but didn't say anything.

The voice on the intercom almost had a knowing smile in it. It was sweet, sickening, and terrifying all at once. "You'd best be on your way, Sherlock Holmes. If we deem you worthy in the future, we'll be sure to send you someone better."

"I'll hold you to that." Sherlock almost seemed pleased. John felt a little sick at that, but knew that somewhere in his mind that the consulting detective was putting on an act.

"Have a good day, Sherlock. And you as well, Dr. Watson."

Back in the flat, Sherlock Holmes let out a gasp as his eyes popped open wide, his blue dressing gown sliding open as he sat up, his hands still tented against his mouth. John's words echoed in his head as he stood. _"It's not that they manipulated Moriarty, Sherlock. It's the manipulation to begin with."_

There was the brightest of grins on Sherlock's face. Even the John in his mind palace had his moments when he could really _see_, even if he hadn't drawn all the connections together like Sherlock had. He'd found the missing piece, though. The one he hadn't seen. It was too much of a human emotion for him to have picked it up before. Now, it all made sense.


End file.
